I Only Want What I Can't Have
by HShoeCrab
Summary: Based off of actual Pete/Patrick onstage dialogue: Pete has been dying to tell Patrick how he feels, but one daring move onstage ignites a passion in each of them that neither saw coming. Peterick Pete/Patrick SLASH!
1. Prologue

Prologue

It was just another hot, sweltering day on the blink tour. Patrick had arrived in the bus early that morning with the rest of the band. It was a normal day. Normal rehearsal, normal pre-show routines, normal screwing around and almost breaking several expensive things. Life felt complete, although Patrick was glad that summer and this tour were almost over.

After several different bands all afternoon, Fall Out Boy took the stage outdoors. It wasn't dark out yet, so he had a panoramic view of the entire venue. He had to do a double-take when he saw how many people were there. The show was sold out, not only because it had been many years since blink-182 had been out on tour, but also that this show was part of a larger festival called River Riot, in Council Bluffs, Iowa.

After several songs that seemed to blur together in his mind, Patrick was relieved when Pete took the mic for a while. He was so exhausted that all he could remember was Pete was saying something about how easy it was to make the girls scream and he blamed it on his tight pants. Patrick chuckled in his head and started listening.

"These pants are so fucking tight, my crotch is asphyxiated," Pete began. "I think it needs mouth-to-mouth resuscitation." The crowd laughed. Pete just fixed his eyes on Patrick.

The split-seconds that followed were a spiral of emotions. _Is he looking at me? Does he like me? Does he want me?_ All Patrick could manage to spit out in a timely manner was an overly sarcastic, "Why are you looking at me?"

Pete's world came crashing down.


	2. Part I: Pete

Part I: Pete

It all started two weeks ago in a hotel room. The blink tour had an extra night in a city, so excitement spread like wildfire throughout the crews as people got off the putrid buses and into their crisp, clean, fresh-linened hotel rooms.

Pete and Patrick's rooms were right next to each other and had connecting doors. When Pete found out about this, he bounced around his room like a spazzy two-year-old until Patrick finally gave up and opened his side of the door.

Later that night, Pete crawled onto his bed and tried to work on some new material. He plugged in some headphones, turned them up louder than any normal human being could tolerate, and attempted to write some lyrics that didn't completely suck balls. Pete had written something that started, "I wish I could be your tongue, so I could touch your lips all the time," before he violently ripped the page off of his legal pad and threw it behind the television. Instead of trying to write something else, he decided to sneak into Patrick's room and steal his MacBook so he could listen to any new music Patrick might be working on.

Pete went through the adjoining doors and assumed super-stealth mode to avoid getting caught. Once he realized that Patrick wasn't there, he just walked normally. He went over to the bed, picked up the MacBook, and turned around to go back into his own room. At that moment, though, the door from the bathroom opened and a wet, glistening Patrick with only a precariously perched towel around his waist came out surrounded by rolling steam.

"Pete, you fucker! Give it back!" Patrick screamed when he saw what Pete was doing.

Normally Pete would've made a run for it, but his eyes were locked on how fucking gorgeous Patrick looked. His head was bare, unprotected by a hat, and his wet, disheveled hair was framing his face and sticking up in all directions. The overload of skin that was exposed on his chest and stomach left Pete speechless. Pete had always said he was gay above the waist, an he already would go gay above the waist for Patrick any day, but what happened next made him question this belief altogether.

Patrick lunged forward at Pete to try and grab the MacBook out of his hands. Pete saw what he was doing and quickly side-stepped to avoid him. Patrick turned quickly to follow him, but the towel did not follow. It fell to the ground, leaving Patrick completely naked and Pete with a wide-eyed view of Patrick's jewels. It instantly became awkward as Pete put the MacBook back on the bed and left the room while Patrick struggled to pick up the towel.

Later that night, Pete's efforts to fall asleep just left him tossing and turning. The clock on the nightstand said 11:58 pm but he was not tired at all. His sheets had already been tangled up into an unrecognizable ball and images of Patrick's beautiful dick still flashed in his brain every few seconds. He winced every time he saw it in his mind. He would try to think of something else-anything else. Ponies, video games, the upcoming show-nothing would take his mind off of Patrick's manhood. The image made him _ache_. He felt like he _needed_ Patrick. He had to fight the urge every second.

As the digital alarm clock ticked over to 12:16 am, Pete finally surrendered. He wrapped his hand around his cock and jacked himself to sleep with short, quick strokes.

The next morning Pete woke up to find sheets that needed changed and a load of shame on his conscience.

Pete threw on some new boxers and a hoodie and went down to the continental breakfast for some coffee that wasn't made on the bus and didn't taste like shit. As he was pouring his first cup, an earthquake rocked him through every fiber of his being. Actually, it was just Patrick patting him on the shoulder and saying, "Good morning, buddy. You finally surfaced."

Pete just stood there, shell-shocked. He stared at Patrick with a horrified expression. It sort of looked like he was accusing Patrick of witchcraft or something.

"Pe-ete," Patrick said as he waved his hand in front of Pete's face.

Pete snapped out of it. "I'm fine, you fucking idiot," he said as he pushed his way past Patrick and sat down at a table.

"Hey, Grouchy! I was just wondering why you were looking at me like that."

"I'm. Fine," Pete half-growled.

"Okay, I'll leave you alone with your coffee. Just remember, we're hitting the road at noon."  
"Nrgh," was all Pete could respond with.

Pete sat at the table alone and sipped his coffee a little slower than normal. He drank several cups in silence while the hotel staff repeatedly told him that the continental breakfast was closed. In between threats he could hear whispered snippets of "Dude, that's Pete Wentz! Go get his autograph!"

At 11:30 the tour director approached Pete and told him to "hurry your ass up or we're leaving you at this hotel."

Pete finally got up, threw all his clothes into his duffel bag and loaded himself onto the bus.

The next few hours on the bus were a blur for him. The rolling countryside was a golden streak, flanked by a blue streak for sky and a gray streak for the road. Pete stayed fixed on the couch even after everyone had retired to their bunks for the night. Finally, at some ungodly hour, Pete went to his bunk.

Now the image that he had been focusing his energy on holding back poured forth. Immediately Pete was in a haze of lust and sweat. He spent the night like the previous, trying to satisfy the want inside of him.

The next week was a blur of shows and masturbation. He was whoring himself like he was back in middle school again. He couldn't even bear to look at Patrick anymore. He was practically a robot.

Finally, after a week, Pete decided that this could not go on any longer. Patrick and the others had started to take notice of the fact that Pete was practically always holding himself up in bunk and making soft moaning sounds. He had to figure out some way to tell Patrick that he had been having fantasies about him and that just thinking about him gave him a raging boner.

He spent forever trying to think of the perfect plan. The good news was that it took his mind off of jacking off, but the bad news was that he could think of absolutely nothing. He felt like he had to tell someone about his predicament, but the only person he ever confided in was Patrick.

A couple days later, Pete was watching blink perform from backstage when he got the perfect idea-he would make a show of it. He would suggest something sexual to Patrick onstage! Besides, the fans would get a kick out of that anyway. It would be suggesting that "Peterick" nonsense that's all over Live Journal and used to creep him out, except now it might actually be coming true…

Pete spent the new few days deciding when he was going to say it and what he was going to say. The when was easy-they had this huge show coming up in two nights called River Riot. It was expected to sell out. The what was a little harder. Pete went through practically every pickup line in that exists in his head, but they didn't really seem to fit the situation. He guessed that not a lot of people came on to their bandmates while on stage.

While he was getting ready for the show that Sunday, Pete had started to panic about getting an idea. He started putting his pants on and went through his usual struggle of fitting his skinny frame into impossibly-skinnier pants when he finally hatched an idea. It was so good that a giant Cheshire-cat-like grin grew across his face.


End file.
